


you're ripped at every edge (but you're a masterpiece)

by biochemprincess



Category: 12 Monkeys (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 08:18:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9811019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biochemprincess/pseuds/biochemprincess
Summary: It wasn't a regular pattern like it was with other customers he knew, sometimes she'd come by twice a week, sometimes weeks would pass. Her visits were always different, a mystery, a surprise, a highlight. Cassandra differentiated from his usual clientele in a more general sense.-The second difference was the motive of her tattoo.Cassandra always got the same one.





	

**Author's Note:**

> You run a tattoo parlor. Every couple of weeks, the same customer comes in, always requesting the same tattoo: an additional tally mark on an ever-growing cluster of tally marks.

James Cole had simple, but strict rules in his shop. They were easy to remember, mostly because he wanted to save some people from themselves.

  

> _1) He does not and will never tattoo somebody under drug or alcohol influence. You want a tattoo, come back sober._
> 
> _2) No racist or homophobic shit. Sure as hell not doing that._
> 
> _3) No lost bets. It was always funny when people came in to request a dumbass tattoo, only because they lost a bet with their friends. But again, he wasn't the right guy for that._

His principles had cost him some customers from time to time, but it was worth it to him. His otherwise great art and attitude provided for a steady stream of customers in his shop, so he couldn't complain.

There were three of them working at the shop - Ramse, Max and himself. Sometimes their boss/ex-boss Deacon came in (if work relationships had a Facebook status, theirs would be 'It's complicated'), but most days they were on their own.

The rules didn't mean he didn't tattoo some bullshit though, if you asked him to. But it was those people's own choice and who was he to argue against their free will? Wasn't his body after all.

Some customers were regulars, their bodies their canvas, skin turned into an art masterpiece. Cole dared to say he was proud of a good deal of them. Some only ever came once, getting some significant tattoo and being done, and he respected the hell out of them too.

_(His own body was more of a --- work in progress. Ramse and Max had both started practicing on him, like he had on them, so some weren't exactly good, but Cole cherished every single one. They were milestones, written memories, strewn all over his skin.)_

But out of all the people who had entered his threshold more than once, the woman who was coming through the door right now, Cassandra Railly, puzzled him the most to be honest. It had taken him two visits of her to even learn her first name, and another two for her last name, but she stopped by quite a lot.

For over three years now.

It wasn't a regular pattern like it was with other customers he knew, sometimes she'd come by twice a week, sometimes weeks would pass. Her visits were always different, a mystery, a surprise, a highlight. Cassandra differentiated from his usual clientele in a more general sense.

She never looked happy, for once.

Every single time she came in, she looked tired and worn out, on the brink of exhaustion. She often reminded him of a flickering candle, close to burning out. He'd once described it to Max after three beer too many, like a physical darkness that clouded her as she walked, and Max had taken his beer from him.

But he stood by his point.

Every single time.

Just like now, as she walked over the threshold of the tattoo shop.

Her skin was a little pale and the dark circles under her eyes spoke of bad sleep, though he had seen her in worse shape.

The second difference was the motive of her tattoo.

Cassandra always got the same one.

Always.

A tiny tally mark on her back.

"She's an assassin, and one day she's going to kill us too," Ramse had said with utmost conviction before he had slapped him on the back and told him to " finally ask her or forget it".

Max's theory was a little less deadly. "List of her one night stands. You know, a modern version of the good 'ol notch on the bedpost. I can totally get behind that."

And third, every time she left the shop, her steps seemed a little lighter than before.

"Hey Cole." Cassandra walked up to him directly, her blonde hair up in a messy pony tail. She didn't look as haunted as usual.

"Cass. The usual?"

"Yes."

It was their ritual at this point, a play in three acts. It was always him who tattooed her too. The first few times it had been coincidence, but then Ramse and Max had refused to tattoo her.

_("Because," Ramse - the prick - had said, "I'm a good friend and an even better wing man."_

_"Unprofessional, bro."_

_Of course Max had to be on Ramse's side. Typical.)_

At this point Cassandra knew the shop almost as good as them. She went to the backroom, put her bag in one of the chairs and took off her baby blue blouse. Her back was littered with small, black tally marks.

Some she'd had before the met, but most of them were his. It felt strangely intimate. The whole art of tattooing was intimate, trusting another person with your skin, but usually he was the artist.

In her case, he was the writer, the treasurer.

"How many?"

"Just one today."

And like always, he got to work. The preparation took the most time, the tattoo itself was quick work. Cole always made sure it was perfect.

In all the three years Cole had never asked, had never dared to. He was too scared she'd leave and never come back. It had to be something personal, something close to her heart and he didn't want to pry.

But the curiosity became stronger with every of her visits.

He considered her a friend these days, even though he knew next to nothing about her. There is a kind of bond he wished he had words to describe.

_(Though it wasn't entirely true._

_Cassandra knew their birthdays, because of a huge calendar in the back and brings each of them cupcakes. Just like he knows hers - October 3rd - and and he actually baked her a cake last year and well --- She laughed and it might have been the happiest he'd ever seen her._

_Her smile as bright as a supernova might have lit up the whole shop.)_

Well, it was now or never.

"Cassie --- can I ask, why?" He didn't dare to speak louder, just his quiet voice, for a fear of shattering the secret. "I mean you can tell me to go to hell and I'll never ask again. I was simply curious."

She didn't move, didn't even turn her head. Her breathing remained the same, her body as still as a marble statue. 

"I'm a surgeon," Cassie said eventually and it took him longer than he'd ever admit to anybody, but ---- but the penny dropped.

"All of the ---"

"Yes."

A heavy silence settled between them as he digested her words.

"But it's not your fault," Cole said. It was the first thought that came to his mind.

Cassie let out a heavy breath and remained silent for a few seconds, only the sound of the needle audible in the room. "I know it, logically. And it's not like --- It's not a punishment, not really."

He just looked at her as she composed herself. "Not anymore," she whispered. "It's a memory. I won't forget them, I will try to become even better."

"I understand." 

And he really did.

It made sense, the way she carried herself, Atlas with the weight of so many lives on her shoulders. Cole made sure to take even more time for the small mark, even though it was such an easy motive. But now, now that he knew the story behind it, he wanted to make sure to honour the life it was connected to. 

"The first one was for my mother. The second was for my dad. And then I just never stopped," she said after he was finished. Finally, Cassandra turned her head and he looked into her eyes to see the pain shining through them. 

And then Cole did something unlikely, something he never did, usually.

But she had answered his question and he was a man of quid pro quo.

Cole took off his shirt on a whim and he watched Cassie's eyes widen. Quickly he started talking, "My father was a mechanic. He died in a car accident, driving his favourite car and I got it as my first tattoo." His fingers skimmed the figure on his ribs. 

Cassandra looked at him in shock. "Cole ---"

"I understand," he repeated.

"Thank you."

They finished up as always, but the silence felt different now. Not as heavy, more like tiny sparks, electrified by their confessions. 

"I usually hope you come here more often, but I'll stop thinking that from now on," he told her almost sheepishly. Because Cole had to say something and apparently he was a huge idiot. 

But Cassie only smiled at him. "You could invite me for dinner, to see me in better clothes for once."

"Would you say yes?"

"Probably."

He laughed out loud. "Wanna grab dinner tonight?"

"Yes," she answered softly.

And that was that.

_(Ramse and Max laughed at his unprofessional ass for weeks, but honestly, Cole really couldn't care less._

_"I hope he at least helped you put on ointment on the tattoo."_

_"I do yoga, I'm flexible", Cassie gave back, and he desperately wanted to kiss her._

_So he did.)_

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from the lyrics of 'colors' by halsey. 
> 
> this has been in the making for ages. literally last year. i'm glad it's finished now. please let me know what you think about this. also @ mightyjemma.tumblr.com


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